Pride & Punishment
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: A rough case takes a lot out of any good CSI. When John Hagen's nephew shows up, will Eric be able to keep Calleigh from breaking down completely? Postep for All In. Spoilers galore, I'm sure. Hiphuggers, and the title is goofy, but I love it!


**Ahem... Yes, well, I know that this wasn't here right away, but now it is time.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the _CSI_ franchise. I own Mitch Hane and Marianne Doherty, but that's just because I have a twisted little mind. Oh, and I don't own Pride & Prejudice either, though it is a work of pure genius and if y'all get a chance to read it, I highly recommend it.**

**Well, I've been thinking about doing a _CSI: Miami_ story ever since I wrote my _CSI: New York_ one. And this, ladies and gentlemen (though I'm sure it's mostly women).**

**This is actually a gift to my friend Jodie, who has been buttering me up with compliments about my other stories and how I should totally write a _Miami _story and other such nonsense. I admit it may be a bit out of character, but that can be easily fixed. Enjoy, everybody.**

* * *

_He could hear faint voices from the other side of the door, and there was no mistaking _her_ voice, no matter how faint it was. He didn't need to wait much longer before a hand slammed against the door and the faint voices turned into one voice yelling, "Miami Dade P.D." His heart caught in his throat at the shakiness he heard in her voice, something that was completely out of character for her. The anger he was already feeling increased tenfold, but he controlled his urge to jump out of his chair and shoot the guy holding her hostage._

_As Davis pulled the sliding door open, Eric forced himself to stay calm, the blood now pounding in his ears making it impossible to hear the exchange between the warehouse owner and Calleigh's captor. The only thing he could focus on was her, shaken up and looking more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. His control was fading quickly, but he held steady, knowing that losing it would be the worst possible thing he could do in this situation. He simply locked eye contact with her, and it was enough to calm him down._

"_Alright, ladies." When he pulled the gun from behind her back, Eric let his eyes fall on it, listening vaguely to the man speak. "Poker game's over, I want all your cash now. Come on." As he switched his attention to Calleigh's face briefly, he noted that there was an eclectic mixture of emotions, almost too many to identify. The predominant shock was laced with fear, relief, and the slight hints of determination and readiness that he could only expect from her._

_Knowing that it was time to reveal the set up by the slow nod from Horatio, he pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it at Seth's head, still fighting the urge to do something that would _definitely_ get him fired (even though Calleigh was worth it)._

_The finger resting on the trigger twitched when the gun trained on him returned to its position behind Calleigh's back. "Drop the guns, or I will shoot her!" The fear that he expected to see intensify on her face never came, but was instead blown away by the rage that he could see brewing in her eyes._

"_You're not gonna get the chance." He tore his gaze from her face to see his boss holding a gun to the kidnapper's head, that trademark intensity carved into his features. The sound of Horatio's gun being cocked was followed immediately by a threat of his own. "Now, if I were you, I'd fold. Don't you agree, Calleigh?"_

_He watched as she deftly turned and knocked the gun out of his hands with her forearms. "Clear!" she yelled as she bent over to retrieve the gun now lying on the ground. As she lifted it and aimed it at her captor, Ryan and Frank grabbed him and lifted him up by his arms roughly. "You messed with the wrong people," she stated fiercely._

_When two officers came over and took him away, she lowered the weapon and hung her head, and Eric immediately moved to console her, placing his hands on her arms reassuringly._

* * *

"Eric?" He broke out of his thoughts, shocked at the clarity they held. He turned to face her, and she smiled sweetly as she gestured to the windshield. "The light is green."

He smiled, a vocal response lost to him at the moment. He returned his gaze to the road and stepped lightly on the gas pedal, bringing the speed up to match the traffic already moving around him. The comfortable silence between them gradually became more awkward, and he wasn't sure if it was him or her emitting the vibe that caused it. From the corner of his eye he saw her yawn into the back of her hand, and he knew the events of the past forty eight hours must have drained her. He knew he had to be in the same condition, but he hid it for her sake. If she only knew what he had gone through while she was missing.

If he needed any more proof that he was exhausted and slightly out of it, he noticed that he was pulling up in front of her building. He looked over at her and noticed that her eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and her head rested against the window. A smile tugged at his lips, the realization that Calleigh Duquesne had fallen asleep in his car a bit too much for him, despite the events that had only just taken place.

He climbed out of the car, closing the door gently behind him. As he walked around the front of the Hummer, he stole a glance at her and saw the serene look on her face was still present. He pulled her door open slowly and gently squeezed her shoulder, bringing her slowly out of her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked around quickly, her eyes almost immediately falling on Eric.

As he smiled, she mirrored the action for only a moment before it morphed into a frown. She looked almost guilty as she disengaged her seatbelt and swung her legs around to climb out of the car. He gripped her elbow lightly to help her, and she smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice still quivering with the vulnerability left over from her ordeal.

He squeezed her elbow reassuringly before he let his hand drop back down to his side. "No problem, Cal," he said with as much nonchalance as possible, but the difficulty with which it was done was not lost on him. It was hard to brush this off as simply another gesture of his friendship, when he knew that it was so much more. The fact that she had agreed to come with him was a big step, but he still didn't think it was nearly enough.

She looked up at him, the faintest trace of fear lingering in her emerald irises. Without a word he began to lead her to the entrance of her building, resting his hand gently on the small of her back. He was surprised when she relaxed and leaned ever-so-slightly into his touch. He held the door open for her, and she smiled meekly as she walked through the door.

Following her to the elevator, he watched as she pressed the button, her shoulders slouching as she began to lower her hand. He couldn't help but think she looked defeated, and the fact that she wasn't putting much effort into hiding it terrified him. He moved beside her and replaced his hand on her back. When he looked down at her, he saw that she had moved her hand to cover her eyes. As they stepped into the elevator, Eric looked over at his friend. "You okay?"

She lowered her hand and looked up at him, a frown creasing her delicate features. She wasn't even attempting a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." She was brushing off his concern, and he could tell. But in her physical state, he didn't want to push her. He knew better than that.

When the elevator arrived at her floor, they stepped off and walked towards her apartment, the silence between them as awkward as it had been in the car. He heard her extract her keys from her pocket and shuffle through them, readying herself to unlock the door. She pushed the key into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open as she twisted the door knob. She held the door open, silently willing Eric to enter with her. She gave him a comforting smile, something he thought was oddly out of place.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked, her voice a bit steadier. "Coffee?"

He locked eyes with her and smiled. "Sure. Let me get it, though." She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes starting a silent protest. He gave her a more serious look before he said, "Just relax. You need to rest." Nodding her consent, he waited for her to curl up on the couch to read a book she lifted off the table before he headed into the kitchen to prepare the coffee.

Approaching the couch with two steaming mugs of the bitter brown liquid, he saw the book Calleigh had been reading lying askew on the carpet. When he shifted his gaze to her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. She was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Not wanting to leave her on the couch, he carefully lifted her from it and carried her in the direction of what he hoped was her bedroom. He prayed she didn't wake, only because he'd rather not take his chances with a second bullet to the head. Placing her gently on the mattress, he extracted his hands as inconspicuously as possible.

He placed a blanket from the end of the bed over her before he went back to the living room, picking the book she'd dropped up from the ground. It was worn and tattered, and looked to be more than twenty years old. The pages were yellowed and bent at the corners, and the spine was cracked and torn slightly at the middle. A quick glance at the title told him it was Pride and Prejudice.

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. The book was obviously used more than enough to put it in the condition it was, which meant it was read more than once. He flipped through the pages briefly, then sat down on the couch as he turned to the first page.

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife._

He blinked, his head attempting to process the outdated use of the English language. Once he got through the first few pages, he was completely enthralled in the novel. Mixed emotions swam within him as he followed the story of Elizabeth Bennet and her inner battle to overcome her own pride to get what she wants… what she desperately needs: love.

As he placed one of his business cards between the pages as he closed the book, his eyes began burning from reading for a long period of time, and he looked down at his watch and almost fell off the couch in shock. He had been in Calleigh's apartment for over seven hours reading. Now that it was one in the morning, he certainly couldn't trust himself behind the wheel. He set the alarm on his cell phone for five and stretched out on the couch, determined to sleep a little before driving back to his apartment to get ready for work. Fortunately, it didn't take long before his lids weighted themselves down and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The shrill call of his cell phone forced him out of unconsciousness, and he looked around in confusion at his surroundings. This wasn't his apartment. When his eyes fell on the book lying on the table, he was instantly reminded that it was Calleigh's place, and that he should probably get going before she woke up.

Moving to the kitchen, he found a piece of paper and a pen, and as he began to write, his hand froze: what exactly was he planning to write? He lifted the pen away and sighed, wracking his brain for the right words to put to paper. Deciding, he placed the tip of the pen back to the paper and let it glide until the words formed.

_Cal, call me when you get this. I want to know if you're okay. – Eric_

Satisfied, he secured the note on the refrigerator and quietly walked through the apartment and out the door.

* * *

As he stepped out of the shower, he could hear his landline blaring from the bedroom. He'd been able to get two more hours of sleep before he got called in, and he needed to get ready. When the answering machine picked up the call, he listened for who it was, and practically tripped over himself when he heard her voice. "Hey, Eric, it's me. I got your note -"

"Hey, Cal," he greeted, letting go of a breath he was unaware that he was holding. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower. Horatio called me in. Body was found in Dorsey Park by a jogger." Silence followed his brief description of the scene he was preparing to head out to, and he waited for her to say something. He could hear her breathing into the receiver, but that was all he heard. "You okay?"

"Yeah. How old was the victim?"

"Not sure. Horatio didn't say." He heard her sigh. "Listen, I have to head out to the crime scene. I'll call you when I get to the lab. Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Now go before Horatio fires you," she joked halfheartedly, and he frowned in response, grateful she couldn't see him.

"Later, Cal."

"Bye, Eric." He heard the click of her receiver and placed his back in the cradle. She was distant and avoided talking about her feelings: typical Calleigh. The only thing she wanted to talk about was the case he was about to work, and he wanted to kick himself for bringing it up. He should've known that was going to happen.

He got dressed quickly, skipped breakfast, and swiped his keys off the counter before he rushed out the door.

* * *

The scene was worse than he had expected, mainly because Horatio could've warned him that the victim was only seventeen before he got there. She should've been in school laughing with her friends in study hall, not lying half naked in the middle of Dorsey Park, raped and then shot point blank in the temple. The cold-hearted bastard who did this was going to pay, Eric promised that.

He was submitting the girl's fingerprints to AFIS when the familiar click of heels sounded from the hallway. He looked up and was surprised to see the woman walking towards the ballistics lab. Checking his watch quickly, he noted that it was technically the beginning of day shift, and all surprise vanished. Kidnapped or not, nothing could keep Calleigh Duquesne away from the job. The trouble was, she still looked exhausted, despite the delicate application of makeup. No amount of foundation and cover-up could hide those bags. Moving to the doorway, he leaned against the frame.

"Hey," he said, and she looked over at him.

"Hey." She walked over, and he moved aside so she could enter the print lab. "What're you working on?"

"I'm running the vic's prints through AFIS. We couldn't ID her at the scene, so this was our best bet." He cleared his throat as she approached the computer, sitting in the very stool he had just vacated. He stood beside her at the computer and watched as the various prints flickered on the screen, comparing themselves to the girl's print and then moving on.

"How old was she?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Sixteen or seventeen." Her eyes closed, and he could tell she was upset. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she seemed to tense briefly before she relaxed under his touch once more.

"What happened to her?"

Eric frowned, not comfortable with answering her. Knowing that she'd find out anyway, he took a quiet breath and braced himself. "She was attacked in the park, raped and shot." The bile rose in his throat as he spoke, but he swallowed it back down hard.

"Did you get the bullet yet?"

"No. Alexx is gonna call when she finishes the autopsy. We got DNA from the perp in the SAE kit, and the night shift tech started running it two hours ago."

A throat cleared at the door and Eric turned his head with her to see their boss standing there. "What are you doing here, Calleigh?"

"Working," she said, her tone that said 'drop it' lacing her voice. However, he knew his boss, and he wasn't one to just let things go. That was one of the side effects of giving a damn.

Placing his hands on his hips, Horatio cocked his head to the right and gave her a concerned look. "You should be home."

"I'm fine, Horatio." She attempted an honest smile, but it was futile when mixed with the exhaustion in her eyes.

As he went to speak, his beeper began to sound, followed almost immediately by Eric's. He looked down and sighed, lifting his head to look at his boss. "It's Alexx. She's got the bullet," he said, moving his hand down Calleigh's arm before dropping it to his side.

Horatio nodded, switching his attention from Eric to Calleigh. "Looks like we're going to need you, after all. Could you identify the bullet?"

"It is my job," she stated, a more genuine grin painted on her lips.

Nodding, he turned and left the print lab, leaving them alone once again. Their solitude didn't last long as Ryan came in, his eyes focused on a sheet of paper gripped between his fingers. Looking up briefly, he did a double take, and Eric smothered a smile, the look on his colleague's face priceless. "Hey, Calleigh."

"Hey, Ryan."

"Hey, man," Eric said, diverting Ryan's attention from Calleigh. "What's up?" he asked, nodding his head toward the paper in his hands.

"Oh, I have the DNA results."

"Already? You have a name?" Dumbfounded, he stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to continue.

"Yeah, Mitch Hane, twenty-years-old. Lives just over six miles away from Dorsey Park." He passed the paper over, a frown creasing his face. "He works as a corrections officer at the Metro West Detention Center."

"It says he was arrested for misdemeanor drug possession when he was eighteen. How did he get a job at Metro West?"

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Eric turned and saw Calleigh getting up from the stool. She gave him a quick smile. "I'm going to get that bullet from Alexx. I'll talk to you later, Eric." She moved towards the door quickly. "Bye, Ryan." She said as she passed him, her blonde hair flowing behind her as it blew back with her speed.

Turning back to him with a quizzical look on his face, Ryan asked, "What is she doing here?"

"Working, apparently."

* * *

"Any luck with the bullet?" he asked, spying Calleigh at her workstation, looking over a file.

"Yeah. Came from a Ruger SR9 9mm pistol. Internal trigger bar interlock and striker blocker, trigger safety, and magazine disconnect. Pretty expensive. You don't see many of these around Miami." Her voice was low with a touch of sadness, something that never happened when she talked about guns. She was always so excited to explain what made a gun work.

But now she sounded on the verge of tears. As she flipped to a new page in the file in front of her, Eric was somehow drawn to look at it. "Is that the file from our case?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, apparently unaware that he had moved directly behind her. "Uh, no," she said as she whipped it shut, but a loose page flew out directly at him. He grabbed it before it fell to the ground, but when he looked at it, he wanted to rip it to shreds: it was a photo of Detective John Hagen lying with half his head missing from a gunshot wound.

"Why are you looking at Hagen's file?" he asked, unable to disguise the irritation bleeding into his voice. She let her hair fall to hide her face as she reopened the file, flipping pages until she suddenly stopped. She slid it over so he could better see it and kept her face hidden as he lifted the file, replacing the photo he was holding within. In front of him now was another photo, this time of the gun that Hagen had used to kill himself. The trace amounts of blood on the barrel told him that.

"It's a Ruger." He almost jumped, not expecting her to say anything. "I wasn't surprised that John… killed himself with one. He collected them. And… and I know Mitch Hane. He's John's nephew. I met him once when John brought me to his sister's anniversary party. He seemed a bit… off."

Eric was taken aback by the information that she was giving him. "Wait, what are you saying, Calleigh?"

She sighed, turning to face him. He almost lost it at the sight of the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her voice had become so even, and hadn't betrayed any hint that she was crying, yet here she was. "I'm saying that Mitch Hane killed our victim with a gun he stole from his uncle's collection. And I know this because John kept all his guns on file, just in case one was ever stolen."

He stared at her, unable to process everything. Thankfully, Natalia came in and broke him out of his confusion induced stupor. "We got a hit on the prints from our vic. Marianne Doherty, sixteen. She didn't come home from her friend's house two days ago, and her parents filed a missing person's report yesterday afternoon. The time of death fits the time frame."

"Thanks, Nat." She nodded and turned, exiting as quickly as she came.

His head officially cleared, he turned back to Calleigh. "You can't stay on this case, Cal."

To his utter astonishment, she nodded. "Honestly, Eric? I don't _want_ to work this case. John Hagen is my past, and I want nothing to do with him."

His eyes honed in on hers, and he could tell she was being honest. "Then why don't you go home? You shouldn't have come to work, anyway. Not after yesterday." Concern seemed to be all the tone in his voice was carrying, and it certainly caught her attention. It was as if what happened had made his feelings clearer, and she was finally gaining some perspective. As much as he wanted to believe that, he'd learned not to get his hopes up when it came to Calleigh.

When her silence continued for more than a minute, he added, "I'll call you with any leads we get, okay? Just… go home, please."

She stared at him, her eyes still showing that same exhaustion from earlier. "Okay," she relented.

She stood from her seat at the workstation and went to take the folder from him, but he held a firm grip on it. "I'll take care of it, Cal." She gave him the smallest smile possible and nodded. As she began to walk away, he put a hand on her upper arm to hold her in place. "Let me make you dinner when this shift is over." Giving him the most awestruck look he'd ever seen, she nodded. He wasn't sure if she knew what she was doing, but it didn't look like she was going to change her mind.

"Just… call me if you get him, okay?"

He nodded and released her arm, giving her a smile that he hoped told her it would be alright. She returned it before she turned and walked out, exuding the air of confidence that she'd learned to fabricate so well. The one that only he could see past lately.

Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Horatio and hit send. This was going to be a long shift.

* * *

He was tall. It didn't surprise Eric in the least, considering Hagen had been at least six foot. But he looked small, sitting at the table in the interrogation room. Horatio offered to do the questioning, so Eric just stood on the other side of the two way mirror and watched.

As the interrogation got heated, it seemed like Hane was going to crack. But he did something Eric never expected. "So where's Calleigh? Thought she was the gun girl?"

"We're not talking about Miss Duquesne. We're talking about what you did to Marianne Doherty."

"I bet you guys wanna know why I did it, huh?" He laughed. It was a cold, bone chilling sound. "I'm surprised ya didn't figure that out yourselves. I'm sure ya know that I used one of my uncle's guns." Horatio nodded his head. "Yeah, well did ya even look at the victim? Blonde hair? Green eyes?"

Before he could hear anymore, Eric turned and left the viewing room. He knew where he was going with it. He blamed Calleigh for his uncle's suicide, so he took it out on an innocent girl who just _looked like her_? He found it absolutely ridiculous, and if he didn't get out of there soon, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from going in and asking him (and probably hurting him badly in the process). He didn't want to repeat the incident with Cooper.

His cell phone started vibrating at his hip, and he pulled it out and flipped it open without checking the ID first. "Delko," he greeted roughly.

"Hey, Eric," she said quietly, obviously taken aback by his tone.

"Hey. I was actually just about to call you. We got him."

"Great," she said, not overly emphatic, but with an undertone of excitement playing at her tone.

"I'll be over in about an hour, I just need to finish some paperwork quick."

"Okay. See you soon."

"Bye, Cal."

* * *

Readjusting the bags on his arm quickly, he knocked on her apartment door, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears. It was just dinner with Calleigh, for Christ's sake. Why was he so damned nervous? "Just a minute!" she yelled from the other side of the door.

The door flew open, and he took in the sight before him. She was wearing a light blue camisole under a black cardigan and pale blue jeans, all of which accentuated her curves perfectly. She looked amazing, and she was merely dressed for a day of lazing on the couch. He gave her a sideways grin and she stepped aside to let him in.

"So what are you making us?" she asked, her curiosity evident in but not overpowering her voice.

"Come to the kitchen and I'll show you," he teased.

She followed him in, taking one of the bags from his arm as she did. In the kitchen, they began pulling the various products out of the bags, and he began telling her what to do with each ingredient. Chopping, dicing, and sifting went on for twenty minutes before she questioned him. "What _are_ we making?"

"I take it you don't cook much?" She shook her head and elbowed him playfully, something that shocked him a bit. She was acting like the old Calleigh… why did that make him nervous? "Well, the flour you're sifting is for the dough, and the vegetables I'm chopping are for the sauce." He began pointing at different ingredients on the table. "The ricotta cheese is for the filling, as well as the garnish… are you catching on yet?"

"I think so." He raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue. "Ravioli?"

"Yep. You're good." A faded blush made its way into her face, and he chuckled quietly.

"That's… unexpected. So we're making this all from scratch?" He nodded slowly before she continued, "Well, who knew? Eric Delko, CSI and secret master chef."

"I'm not a _master_ chef, per se. But I do admit, I'm pretty good." Putting the knife down momentarily, he turned and looked around the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a paper towel and headed for the stereo, turning the radio on low. A country station came on almost immediately, not surprising him in the least.

When he went to turn it, he heard Calleigh call from the kitchen, "Don't you dare turn that. I love this song."

"What is it?"

"I Told You So… you've never heard of Keith Urban?" As he resumed his position next to her at the counter, he shook his head. "Oh, wow. You don't listen to the radio that much, do you?"

"Nah. Haven't listened in a while."

The conversation continued as they prepared the meal, Calleigh rolling the dough flat, Eric stirring the sauce as it simmered on the stove. She seemed to have a real knack, despite the fact that she claimed to not cook. "For someone who doesn't cook much, you sure are pretty good at it," he mocked.

"Okay, maybe I cook a little. But I never have time to do it anymore because of the job." She sighed over the even slices of dough. Little blobs of ricotta cheese lay plopped on top of every other slab, waiting to be covered by another.

"Maybe you need to take some time off. Relax a bit."

"I don't know. Maybe you're right." He watched as she began to create the raviolis, carefully pinching the sides so the filling didn't come out. "It's just… I feel empty without my work. I don't have much outside of work to rely on."

"What do you mean? What about Jake?" He cringed as he said the name and prayed she didn't see.

"That's long over. It just isn't going to work between us. I've finally accepted that."

The fact that she was being so open with him was amazing, and Eric wouldn't trade it for the world. He wanted to pinch himself to check if he were dreaming, but that choice was taken away from him as he placed his hand on the counter and sliced his finger on a knife.

"Damn," he muttered, bringing his finger up to inspect it. When Calleigh looked over at him, he watched as her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. She left the room quickly, returning moments later with a first aid kit that would make any doctor proud.

Quietly, she began cleaning the affected area, ignoring his protests as the cut began to sting. "You're lucky this doesn't need stitches." He rolled his eyes, secretly thankful that this didn't need to be cut short by his stupidity. She looked up, her eyes showing her exhaustion clearer than ever. He pulled the bandage from the first aid kit and applied it himself.

"Why don't you let me finish up in here? It won't be that long once I get the ravioli in the water."

She nodded and moved into the living room, and he stood in the doorway and watched as she picked up the same book from the previous night and flipped the pages. Turning from the doorway, he moved to the counter and got back to cooking.

* * *

"That was incredible," she said softly as she stood over the sink washing the dishes.

"Guess we make a pretty good team off of the field, too."

"Yeah." Her tone of voice changed in that one word. He focused on her as she passed a dish over to him to dry, "Why did he do it?"

"What?"

"Mitch… why did he kill her?" His breath caught in his throat, and he was sure the color drained from his face. He hadn't thought about the case since he'd entered the apartment, nor had he thought that it would come up during any of their conversation beforehand. "Eric?"

"Uh, I, uh," he stumbled, his mouth and brain not working together for the first time that evening. He grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing gently, trying to stimulate the connection to his vocal cords.

"Eric, I want to know. I wouldn't ask if I didn't," she said earnestly, now staring him directly in the eyes.

As he dried the final dish, he contemplated whether or not he should tell her. It wasn't because he couldn't tell her – she had identified the bullets, after all. It was the fact that even after Hagen died, he was still finding ways to keep her from moving on, from being happy.

Sucking in the deepest breath he could, he started. "From what I heard of the interrogation, he did it out of revenge for his uncle's suicide. He blames -" his voice gave out momentarily, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "He blames you for his uncle's death. He killed Marianne because she had the same basic physical characteristics as you."

Her face had been stone up until the last sentence. Against what he was sure was her better judgment, tears began to flow down her cheeks freely, but she didn't cry. She just let them fall, but God knew she would never let herself cry. He pulled her against him, wrapping her into an embrace that she could easily pull back from. However, she didn't.

She mumbled something inaudible into his chest, and he pushed her to arms length. "What?"

"Why can't I get rid of the bastard?" she asked, her tone similar to his when he would refer to Jake or Hagen.

"You can, Cal. You just have to let it go. Don't let this prick get to you. You're stronger than this." He was trying desperately to convince her, but it seemed every word made the tears stream faster down her cheeks.

"I don't think I'm strong enough. Not after what happened."

"You survived! You did what anyone in that situation prays they can do! If that doesn't prove you're strong, I don't know what would!" He hadn't meant to yell, but it seemed to get his point across. The tears stopped flowing, leaving the tracks they left behind to dry and cement themselves on her cheeks.

Reaching up without thinking, he cupped the sides of her face with his hands and wiped away the damning marks with his thumbs. She closed her eyes, and as he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hands back to his sides, feeling the blush creep into his cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, he thought he saw… disappointment. Surely it was his imagination.

"Sometimes I don't think I deserve you," she admitted, despondence bleeding into every word.

"Don't say that. You know it's not true," he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. She gave him a weak smile, and he returned it wholeheartedly. He wanted to reassure her in every way possible, but the one way he truly wanted to comfort her was out of the question.

Or so he thought.

She moved into him, resuming the embrace from earlier. He knew she needed comfort, but she was acting so outside of herself, and it was worrying him. He loved her, and he didn't want to see her so out of touch with her normal attitude.

"Cal, are you really okay?" he asked carefully, hoping that, for once, she would actually answer him.

"I'm really not. It's been awhile since I've been this afraid," she said, tears choking her at every breath.

"You don't have to be afraid, Querida. I'm here."

She took a step back suddenly, and he looked down at her, asking the question with his eyes.

What is it?

She didn't answer though. Instead, she lifted herself up and did the most unexpected thing: she kissed him. Immediately, all Eric could do was think, _What the _hell_?_ It took a moment for him to respond, but once he returned the kiss, she had him pinned against the counter. She nipped at his bottom lip, begging entrance, and it didn't take much for him to comply. It was heated, electric, everything he had expected it to be.

But his conscience reminded him that the timing wasn't all that great. Grabbing her shoulders firmly in each hand, he pushed her away lightly, and they began gasping for the air they both so desperately needed.

"Whoa," he breathed out, smiling at her solemnly. "Where'd that come from?"

"I have _no_ idea."

She smiled at him, and he almost lost his balance. He couldn't believe this was happening (though it should've happened a _long_ time ago). He looked down at his watch and realized that it was well past midnight. "I should get going, Cal. But, uh… are you doing anything this weekend?"

"Maybe. Why? Are you?"

He grinned. "I was thinking that, maybe, you'd want to come with me to celebrate my mom's birthday."

She returned his grin with the thousand watt smile of her own, and she nodded her head. He bent down and gave her a firm kiss on the forehead, grinning as she leaned into the contact. As he headed for the door, he heard her following before the sounds of her footsteps practically disappeared. When he turned to see where she'd gone, she had already come back behind him. "Here," she said as she handed a book to him.

It was Pride & Prejudice.

"Thought you might want to finish what you started," she said as she kissed him again, and the book fell to the floor.


End file.
